


Good Boy

by dedougal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean should have known better than to dare Sam to take part in an Amateur Strip Night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

> For bewaretheides15's birthday.

There are some things you should never dare your brother to do. Dean knew he should have known that. He knows Sam. He pretty much knows Sam better than he knows himself. And he knew just what buttons to push to get Sam to take the dare. Or, maybe his unconscious brain had, because his conscious brain is currently going “Oh shit” on repeat.

Amateur Night was definitely “amateur” in this neck of the woods. The town was big enough to obviously sustain a healthy number of establishments catering to more alternative lifestyles and it had been the advert for one of these that Dean had picked up on in the diner earlier. Sam had been eating his salad like a good boy and pointedly ignoring Dean’s jibes. Dean was bored. Then there were dares and glares and all that good stuff, which, inevitably, landed him here. Watching. Trying desperately not to commit to memory the slightly balding man with the paunch who had writhed up and down the pole to “Baby Got Back.”

Beer was good. Whisky was better. But when your little brother strode out in eyeliner and a t-shirt so tight it looks painted on… That’s when spraying the entire contents of your glass across the table in no seconds flat seemed like a good plan.

Sam looked like he belonged there. Dean was half torn between the urge to beam proudly and the need to throw his coat over Sam as he put his back against the pole, raised his hands above his head to clutch it and slide down to his knees, every muscle standing out in taut relief under the thin white material. There was a collective sigh around the bar as something with a low bass and a dark lyric – industrial and throaty – started up and Sam fell forward, arching his back, and crawling down the catwalk. His eyes met Dean’s, dark and intent and then Dean had another problem. He hunched over, hoping the table would hide the rather prominent bulge in his pants. Sam wasn’t supposed to look like that outside of their varying bedrooms. Or outside of the car on dark and lonely highways.

Fuck it. Sam was now whipping out his wicked grin, rising up onto his knees and making Dean long to run his hands over the smoothly muscled thighs splayed wide. Teasingly, Sam drew his hands over his chest, drawing the shirt up, up, up to reveal the sliver of skin at his waist and the top of his boxers. His belly flexed as he seemed to finally hear either the begging of the crowd or the sheer want running through Dean’s brain as he pulled it over his head and tossed it towards his brother. There was a collective sigh that ran through the crowd. Sam was just wearing his jeans now and the acres of golden skin that Dean loved to worship - and lick and nibble on occasionally - were there for just anybody to see.

Then Sam got back to his feet, smoothly, eagerly and made his way back to the pole. Dean had to stifle a snort at the rather unsubtle wiggle Sam tried to throw in. He wasn’t really built for sexy moves. In fact, Dean thought privately, Sam was at his hottest when he stalked, intent and purposeful, determined to reach whatever goal he had in mind. Sam seemed to come to the same conclusion, using the pole as nothing more than a display post for the planes of his body as he slowly, slowly popped the buttons of his fly. He was sweating – either from the exertion or more likely from the heat of the lights – and he glowed. His eyes caught Dean’s and the rest of the room seemed to fall away. Even the music faded below the pounding of blood in his ears. 

Sam didn’t seem inclined to draw it out much more. He let his loose jeans fall to the floor, wrapped his leg around the pole and dipped backwards, not too far, holding on with hand. It was as if he was fucking the pole, rubbing his dick up against it like he would do to Dean when he was horny and drunk. His boxers clung to his ass, sweat darkening the waistband. Dean held on to the table. Otherwise he would have been up there, pulling those boxers down and cupping the skin underneath, parting the globes of Sam’s ass to taste him, drive into him. At that thought Dean had no other option than to push the heel of his hand against his suddenly painful erection.

At that moment, Sam seemed to understand the torment he was putting Dean through. He smirked, wicked and tempting Dean to finally jump up on that stage and kiss the look off Sam’s face. He straightened and tugged the waistband lower and lower, to an accompanying chorus of whistles and encouraging cheers. Instead, Dean breathed a sigh of relief when the song ended to applause and Sam gathered his jeans and disappeared behind the curtain dividing the stage from the rest of the club.

Dean took the respite to talk his cock down to half-mast, helped by the next “dancer”, a tall skinny boy wearing a red leather thong. Sam pressed up along his side, closer even than he’d been to the pole. He was enjoying the whole adoring audience thing. Dean mainly enjoyed being able to stake his claim, kissing Sam deeply, hand tight in the sweaty hair at the nape of Sam’s neck.

“Wanna get out of here?” The words dipped deep into the lower registers of his voice, and it was more as a rumble that Sam would feel through all the places they were pressed against each other. Sam responded with another kiss.

“Later.” Sam stole Dean’s whisky and took a sip.

“What?” Dean’s outrage made him squeak a little. His cock pressing against his zipper again seemed to add to the pain.

Sam grinned lazily. “Got to see if I won. After all, a dare’s a dare, right.”

Recalling the terms of the dare, Dean settled more comfortably in his chair. He would enjoy this no matter what the outcome was. The cash would be good but the fucking would be even better.


End file.
